Oh, to the God That I hate So Much
by KingRabbit
Summary: "But you don't know what it's like to have you there, then suddenly not. I was lost - still am. And even more confused than I ever was. Especially now, because your suddenly right there again." Allen left and Kanda reflects. yullen, character death


**Why did I name it such? I have no idea. It's one of the reasons I don't write tragedy very often...**

**disclaimer: i don't own... sadly...**

**part one is kanda, part two is allen.**

Oh, to the God That I Hate So Much

How long has it been now? About three years? Maybe give or take a few. All I remember is your not here anymore; that you're no longer by my side. But even after all this time, I can't get you off my mind; I can't erase you from my thoughts and definitely not from my heart. I wonder when the last time you thought of me was? Or have you completely forgotten about my very existence? It's a possibility after such a long time - especially now that I realize how I was treating you. I hadn't realized just what state we were in, what condition our bond was in.

I hadn't realized it immediately, why would I? I was too busy trying to wrap my head around the idea of you not being there anymore. I hadn't even realized you left until after the third day. I waited for you to come home, waited with an ultimatum about how worried you made me.

But you never did. I called around, asking everyone we knew if they'd seen you, practically begging for information when they said they'd let me know if you contacted them. I knew they were lying; I knew but didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to believe that you had left. But I had learned to accept it when they came to collect your things. I let them, because they told me it was what you wanted.

But it hurt to let them take your things, it still hurts to think about it. And I can't stop thinking about it - or your wordless good-bye and how you would usually demand a kiss that I would wait until the last moment to give you, just so I could have you in my presence that much longer. I can't stop thinking about how you just left me, you left us. At first I was angry at everything, everyone -even you; but especially myself. I often think about where we went wrong, were I went wrong, to have you walk away. The more I think about it, the less I understand. I gave you space so you wouldn't feel like I was smothering you, kept my distance so you could be free to do what you wanted. But now that I understand, of only a little, I realize that what might have been me giving you space was me being distant, and that my wanting you to keep your freedom might have been interpreted as me being cold. Even those kisses might have been taken as me being reluctant. I don't know, and I probably never will. I hadn't meant to hurt you, hadn't meant to make you feel this way. I always thought I was doing slightly ok with conveying what I felt for you, but obviously it wasn't what was happening.

Or maybe it was the complete opposite and I wasn't smothering you enough. But I honestly don't think you're the type who would want to be oppressed - unless there's something you never told me.

But honestly speaking, how long has it been since I've seen your smile? I swear you moved out of the country or something. Tch, you probably did. You were always saying how you would have liked to go back to Europe for at least a small amount of time - even if it was the plane landing and taking off again. Would you believe me if I said that I was planning on taking you there for your birthday - granted, I didn't say anything because I had to make sure we could afford it. As adorable as your gluttonous ways are, they're taxing on our wallets. Now though, I earn enough to fly us there and back fifty times and stay there twice as long without having to worry. Partially it's because I have a better job, but also partially because I don't have you to spend on. I don't have anyone to spend money on, nor do I want anyone who isn't you.

You don't know how hard it is to live without you, alone in the apartment that I can't seem to make myself move out of just in case there's a sliver of a chance of you coming back and me not being there when you get there. I can't sleep in our room, haven't even touched the bed - I only go in to get my clothes and that's it. This place holds too many memories of us, of you - and it hurts more than I'd like to admit, even after all these years.

Do you even remember why you left me? Because if you do, I'd like to know. Scratch that, I'd KILL to know. And I'm sure you're well aware that I probably could kill someone. I know I could. I also know that I can be bitter and have so many burdens and baggage that it's probably fucking visible. I also know I have heaviness to me that it could probably outweigh a mountain if given a chance. But isn't that why we'd gotten into this relationship in the first place? Isn't it because despite our completely opposite personalities, inside we're the same? Or maybe it's why you left. Maybe you left because my burdens became too much for you to bear. But I could've sworn I made sure not to let you shoulder any. Was I just kidding myself and accidentally put them all on you? I hope I didn't. I know I didn't say it, but I really didn't want to hurt you. But it seems like I've hurt you anyway. If I could, I'd apologize - or at least try to anyway. I'm not that good with words, sometimes you weren't either. But even so, maybe I should have told you how happy I was to have found someone almost as fucked up as me, and how much I loved you and loved having you by my side. Why am I using past tense? Fuck, I still love you and always will.

But you don't know what it's like to have you there, then suddenly not. I was lost - still am. And even more confused than I ever was.

Especially now, because your suddenly right there again.

I know my eyes are wide, how can they not be. They need to be so I can take in as much of you as I can. Your eyes, the color so unique, no one could hope to name or match it; your hair, the same as your eyes, dancing softly in the light summer breeze; your face, as imperfect as you claim it to be is, and always has been, perfect in my eyes. I can't take my eyes off you as you stare back at me. And I can feel all that old longing swell to unbelievable heights, the disbelief over you walking out and now seeing you again, and all the love I had - have - for you; it's all there, raw and fresh. There's hurt too, hurt over you leaving; and it's strong, so strong that I feel I would drown if not for everything I'd already mentioned. People say I'm cold as ice, but I just don't know how to properly express my emotions. That was one of the reasons I fell in love with you. You knew how to read me. And from your eyes I can see that I still know how to read you.

But why do you look so hollow? Why aren't you happy now that you're free? Why do you look like you haven't slept since the day you were born, and your cheeks slightly sunken. Why do your eyes, despite the disbelief and the hope that I don't understand why is there, look so empty? I can almost feel my heart shattering all over again just looking at you.

But then, all I feel is panic. Panic because you took an unconscious step forward, off the safety of the crowded sidewalk, into one of the busiest streets in the city. And out of the corner of my eye, I can see the transport; can hear the screams and the honking and the screeching tires as everything erupts into chaos.

And then there's pain. Pain, because I couldn't stop myself from making sure I didn't have to watch you be hit. I couldn't stop my feet from moving, my legs from running, and my arms for pushing you. Maybe I could have, I mean, it's not like I tried.

.

.

.

.

I shouldn't have taken that step. Why did I? I just couldn't help it. You were there, standing right across the street, looking at me with those bottomless eyes that showed more than what should be a legal amount to show in such small orbs. You were there; more beautiful than anything my memory could haunt me with in both my dreams and waking hours. None of the images had done you justice, despite the seemingly almost unkempt appearance. How could I not want to run into your arms? But then I remembered what I'd done to you those six years ago. How could I forget? It wasn't until Lenalee slapped me the last time I visited her that I learned just how broken I'd made you. I always thought you'd be happy for me to be gone, I always thought you hated me. I had hurt you so much, made you feel so much pain - even more than I felt over leaving.

And then I'd hurt you even more by taking that damn step. I don't even know why I made it. I guess I couldn't wait the last two seconds for the light to change for me to walk. But that transport shouldn't have even tried to make it through the crossway!

I guess I shouldn't blame someone else for things like this, especially when it's all my fault to begin with.

I wonder if I'm a bad person for taking pleasure in your touch when you shoved me back onto the sidewalk. No, I know I am. How the hell did you move so fast though? And why didn't you just let it hit me, especially after how much I've hurt you already.

Your name leaves my lips in the loudest, most fear filled scream I have ever made as I watch the transport hit you. The sound of it making contact with your body fills my ears, deafening in its loudness.

I can't move at first, even when it's me moving that made you save me in the first place. When I'm finally able to stand, I almost fall right away as I rush to your side on weak legs. I'm scared; I'm so scared as I drop down beside you. No, I'm terrified because you're not moving. Your so still I'm almost tempted to shake you to make you move. I'm afraid to touch you in fear of hurting you anymore. So, as gently as I can, I brush your hair from you face, almost crying in barely restrained relief when I feel you breathe. But it's so shallow and almost non-existent that I want to... I don't know what I want to do; I don't even know what to do at all. All I can seem to do is cup your face so carefully that I'm hardly touching you and call your name over and over again.

You stop breathing when the ambulance arrives and I practically scream at them to let me go with you until they finally let me into the rig. I cry and beg for them to help you, can feel the tears on my face as I pray for you to make it, can feel the pain from my nails digging into my palms as I stare at your blank face. They move me out of the way and force me to stay in the hall as they roll you away. I break down in the hall, screaming and crying your name as I curl into a ball, ignoring the nurse that tries to comfort me, tries to get me to move out of the hall and into a room, tries to get me coherent so I can answer some questions. But I can't stop screaming your name. I pray to every god and goddess I can think of that you'll be ok, that we can work this out somehow.

Some few hours later, a doctor comes in, asking my name, and when I answer, leads me to your room, saying you were asking for me. He also says that I should be ready for the worst, that they've done what they can and there isn't anything else they can do to help you. He tells me that you might not make it, that you might not live past the top of the hour. So with a shuddering breath, I enter the E.R. room that your in, the room that the nurses and surgeons clear out of to allow us to be alone. I slowly make my way to your side; slowly meet your beautiful eyes that still hold emotion above the legal limit; slowly grasp your hand; slowly let my tears fall; and quickly blurted thousands of apologies within the second before you tug me with strength you shouldn't have into a kiss. I'm more than willing to return it as it shuts me up, if only for a moment - I'm right back to apologizing as soon as we separate.

Before either of us can do anything, I begin apologizing for more than putting you in the position your in, but also for what I made you go through those long six years ago, for walking out on you. I tell you how I thought you wanted someone else and that you didn't love me. You take it all with a calm, albeit exhausted and slowly paling, expression; you just take it as if it were nothing. Your only response when I'm finally done is that your glad; your glad that I'm ok; your glad that I'm alive, even as we speak your getting weaker; your glad that you were able to see me again; your glad that I still love you.

I beg for you to hold on, hold on so we can try again, to make it our last stand. You chuckle weakly and say that I sound like some kind of comic book hero. I call you a nerd in response. You smirk, saying tears really don't suit me unless their tears of ecstasy. I'm tempted to smack you but in your state I don't want to risk it. I retort by saying your face doesn't suit you - which is a complete lie - and that if not tears, then what does?

You say a smile.

I can feel blush staining my cheeks as you say the words. Then you ask for a smile, that you might be more tempted to wake up if you saw it waiting for you. I know I don't have much time; your eyes are almost closed. But I can't see to muster it. Finally your eyes are almost, almost closed and I lean to kiss your forehead. I smile lovingly at you, the best I can and say I'll be here when you wake up, so you have to wake up. You just make a small noise in the back of your throat before your eyes close completely and you still.

Panic races through me and I caress you face gently with my hand, softly because of the wounds there, calling your name in an even softer voice. You struggle to open your eyes before dropping the lids again. I'm scared, unbelievably so, but I trust you not to leave me like I did you. I trust you to come back to me and tell me how much an idiot I am, make fun of my height, and then we finally settle into bed after a good round of sex after too long - because I know you haven't done it since I left and neither have I - and then we'll talk about what we did wrong last time. We obviously feel the same and yet we don't seem to be as level with each other as we like to think - my height not included. And I'll wait as long as I have to in order for these thoughts to come true. So grabbing your hand, I wait by your side. Even when the doctors come in and move you to a private ward, I never let go of your hand, and hopefully I never will nor have to. Because I don't think I could live if you left me, it would hurt too damn much, so much more than it already does, knowing I put you in this situation, that I was - am - the cause of your pain and suffering. I always have been. So I wait, with you hand in both of mine and a smile on my lips, I wait...

... I wait even as I feel you slipping away, even as I try to call you back to me, even as I know your already gone, I wait - because it's all my powerless self can do besides cry endlessly as the monitor finally, finally, goes dead.

**If it makes you feel better I hate myself for writing this and was crying while doing so...**

**Review? please?**


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